Impulses (62 page)

“It’s better to be safe than sorry.”

“That is why I opted for the most effective form of contraception. So I
could
stay safe, and
avoid
the sorry.” I hang my head and anxiously rotate my amethyst ring around my finger, leaving a burning, chaffing sensation on the raw flesh beneath the silver band.

“Well, Miss Kennedy––”

Please be negative, please be negative. Holding my breath, I glance up warily.

“You’re pregnant.”

I sit in the hard, plastic seat, my face ashen while I feel the ground swallowing me up. My body temperature rockets as I become aware of perspiration bleeding through every pore of my body in instant panic. Her words haunting my mind,
you’re pregnant. You’re pregnant.
My subconscious shakes her head, lowering herself into the closest chair before collapsing into a crumpled heap on the green carpet.

Dr Summers fills a transparent, plastic cup with icy-water from the dispenser in the left corner behind her. “Here, drink this,” she says softly, while extending her arm over her desk.

I accept the cup, and sip slowly, feeling totally numb.

“We should date your pregnancy, Samantha. And remove your implant also.” Rounding the desk, she gestures to the examination bed behind me. “If you pop yourself up onto the bed, and we will have a look. Excuse me a moment.”

As she exits the room, I place the half-empty cup on the edge of the desk. Fighting my reluctance with what residual lucidness I have left, I push myself up from the hard seat and listlessly make my way to the examination bed. Every step I take I feel my impending doom, I’m consumed by it––by how much I have fucked up and the consequences of my actions. A baby? That is a fucking damn big consequence!

Dammit, what’s Hayden going to think?

I lay myself back, propping my upper-body against the angled frame. It’s surprisingly comfortable.

When Dr Summers returns pushing the sonogram machine, I notice her black and white, bell-shaped skirt which flatters her curvy figure. A silly thing to notice…to observe, but I’ll kindly accept any form of distraction at this point.

Smiling upon me with womanly support, I make an effort to mirror her kindness, but I’m too overcome with disbelief, shock and downright stupidity.

In a daze, I vaguely hear her voice.

“If you pull your dress up, Miss Kennedy, you can place the blanket over your bottom half.” Although distracted, I comply without question. She folds several paper towels between my pubic area and the blanket. “The gel will be cold; I don’t want to shock you.”

“To late for that one, Dr Summers,” I retort, lifting my right arm and placing it over my eyes, in a measly attempt to block out the problem ahead.

Albeit, she warned me about the jelly, but I am still shocked by exactly how cold the damn stuff is. My God, do they keep that stuff in the refrigerator? She rolls the probe over my lower abdomen, and I hear faint clicks as she presses certain buttons.

She finally holds the probe in one position. “And there is your baby.”

Slipping my arm from my face, I turn my head towards the screen. She points a long nail at the peanut-like shape swathed in the circle. All breath is expelled from my body, my mouth fallen open wide in wonder.

“That’s…so small,” I mumble, feeling the skin crinkle between my eyebrows as I pull them together.

“You’re about ten weeks pregnant. I am very much surprized that you didn’t notice any symptoms earlier to be honest with you, Samantha.”

I stare intently at the black and gray picture displayed on the monitor. “What’s the flashing?”

Pulling her attention from the monitor, she gazes down at me with a warm-hearted grin. “That, Miss Kennedy, is your baby’s heartbeat. It’s very strong, that’s very reassuring.” My eyes dart towards her, and then back at the screen. “The gift of life is an amazing one, Miss Kennedy.”

The monitor, the baby, the doctor, everything in my sight begins to swim. I try to blink away my tears, but it is too late, they are already falling from my eyes, trickling their way down my cheeks and into my ears.

Enraptured, I watch my baby’s tiny heart fluttering like hummingbirds’ wings, and joy blossoms through my fear. My mouth curves into a spontaneous smile that’s abounding with inexplicable sentiment at this miraculous creation. Earlier qualms of my lack in maternal instincts are abated, dwindling with each falling droplet that spills down my face, as I feel an overwhelming sense of protection towards this little person that is attached to me…growing inside of me, a part of me…my peanut.

“Would you like a photograph?” she asks.

Powerless to divert my focus from the shape on the screen, I nod painstakingly. She presses a button then rubs her hands together.

“Right, now we need to remove that implant.”

Gathering the mass of blue paper towels, I wipe away the smeared gel with as much efficiency as a toddler painting; it is damned near impossible to rid yourself of this stuff in one swift motion.

The top of my left arm feels numb from the removal of the contraceptive. I glance at the Band-Aid, and then to the sonogram photograph in my right hand…it is all worth it, I am sure of it.

Dr Summers makes her way around her desk, and lowers herself into her seat. “I will give you your pregnancy vitamins and a list of do’s and don’ts. We will need to book you in for another appointment with another OB/GYN…”

I struggle to absorb all the additional information that Dr Summers imparts in my still dazed state. But the fog lifts and a boulder soon grounds me.

“The estimated due date…” she purses her lips and rotates some form of wheel, “…is the fourteenth of July.” And somehow, for some unfathomable reason, hearing that date just made everything a whole lot real.

I’m pregnant. I’m going to be a Mom.

“Congratulations, Samantha.”

Pulling my gaze from the photograph in my hand, I regard the kind doctor with a heartfelt smile. “Thank you, Dr Summers.”

I sit in my Honda, watching the people of San Francisco amble along the tree-lined sidewalk. Shadows cast along the street as the sun slowly materializes from over the towering buildings around me.

Holding the black and gray print in my hands, I graze my right thumb across my peanut, while my left hand instinctively splays across my lower abdomen, offering further protection. With my hand on my stomach and the visual evidence of the little person inside me, in my hand, I have never felt so…connected, so alive…terrified with a capital T, but even still, so  overjoyed.

The pregnancy wasn’t planned, but it’s here. And regardless of timing or planning, this baby was made out of love…and love is never a mistake––well, the love between Hayden and I has never been a mistake.

“Oh, damn.” Remembering I told Hayden that I would ring him when I got out of the Doctor’s Office, I fumble with my purse on the passenger side seat and fish out my cell.

I wait patiently on the line, yet he fails to answer. I hang up and suddenly recall him mentioning two appointments today; maybe they’re why he isn’t answering. I don’t want to interrupt him if he’s with a client…but I know he will worry until I make contact. I don’t particularly want him having another paranoid fit on me.

After weighing my options, I decide to call the office instead.

“Good morning, Wentworth and Associates, how may I help you?”

“Hey, Chloe, it’s Samantha,” I hum, sounding despondent in comparison to her lively tone.

“Hi, Sam, how are you feeling? Mr. Wentworth said you’ve come into contact with that God awful bug that has been circling,” she drones, and all I can think is, ‘Shut up, shut up. I just want to speak to Hayden’.

“Yeah, listen, I’ve tried calling his cell. He wanted to know what the doctor said, but there’s no answer. If he’s not with a client, is there any chance you could patch me through?” I murmur apologetic, conscious of the hassle that I’m causing.

“Sure, hold on.”

The line goes quiet for a few beats.

“Samantha, are you okay? What did the doctor say?”
Whoa, hold your horses.

I’m knocked back for a moment, as he hastens his words down the handset, showing full concern for my wellbeing as always. I bite my lip, striving to break my broadening grin upon hearing the alarm in his tone. I don’t like causing him unnecessary worry, but it’s also nice knowing that he cares.

“Um…she said that…”

A slight, unwarranted sense of trepidation dusts over me the instant I even remotely contemplate both positive and negative reactions that my unexpected news could trigger in him. Would he be happy? Scared? Confused but get used to the idea? Or will he begin to doubt me? Doubt my fidelity and therefore doubt the paternity of our baby? What about the nightmares? The dusting increases into a full blown, no-holds-barred, downpour. Shit, how is he going to react to this news, period?

“Samantha? Are you there?” His voice is my anchor, my raft from treading the treacherous waves in the deep sea of pessimism.

I inhale deeply. “I should try and rest, keep my fluids up and eat little and often.” There, that sounds reasonable.

“How long did she say you’ll be struck down for?”

Damn,
that’s a good question––how long does morning sickness last for anyway? Ugh, there is too much to think of, and I am just way, too tired.

“Bugs vary, Hayden. So, I really hope you don’t mind but, I’m going to head back home, and listen to the good doctor.” I rub my stomach with rhythmic strokes.

“Of course, beautiful. I want you back to your healthy, normal-self as soon as possible.” I hear the leather of his chair crack and whine as he presses his back against the rest. “I hate knowing you’re ill and powerless to help ease it,” he sighs, and I know that he is frowning at the mere contemplation.

My heart swells. “Hey, you’re not helpless, honey. Hearing your voice alone is enough to get me through.”

I hear him snigger and my cheekbones rise. I nip my lip.

“I will come to you after work, okay? I miss you.”

“I miss you, too. I will see you later, hon. I love you.”

“I love you, too, beautiful,” he mutters, and then the line goes dead.

Will I ever get bored of hearing him confess his love for me? I snort and shake my head, never. I need to know it just as much as he does.

Tossing the handset back into my purse, I tip my head back against the headrest. Closing my eyes, I am haunted by Hayden’s words;
I want you back to your healthy, normal-self, as soon as possible.
Shit…an internal shudder prompts my hair follicles to stand to attention; unrelenting shivers pave their way up my spine like wildfire. I open my eyes as realization knocks on my metaphorical door––things are going to get worse, before they get better.

My stomach churns, and the familiar bitter taste begins to advance to the back of my throat, but now knowing that it’s a symptom of my pregnancy, it sets a differing opinion to the one I have shared the prior four days. It seems…worthwhile. I am able to overlook the feeling that I detest, because something miraculous is happening to cause it.

“Okay, okay…” I peek down at my abdomen, my left hand still splayed protectively across it. “Let’s go home and attempt to eat something yummy,” I snigger, before starting the car, and pulling out into traffic.

I hear a faint knocking sound. It gets closer and closer, becoming louder and louder as I hang on to the cusp of unconsciousness. But it is too annoying, and too loud to continue ignoring. I blink my eyelids open. A dim, burnish orange coats the interior of my bedroom as the sun begins to set.

I glimpse at the clock on my left bedside unit. 5:00 p.m.,
oh, my, I have slept all day?

I hear the knocking sound again. So that’s what has woken me up. Begrudgingly, I push myself up from the comfort of my bed. I rub my eyes and endeavor to overcome the fuzzy, disorientated feeling as I stagger out of my room.

Making my way down the hallway, the door is knocked again. I have to admire their persistence, but enough is enough already.

“Hang on,” I mumble, and start to open the door, riled at the persons incessant thumping. I mean, really…the impatience of some people.

I sag with both shock and relief as I gaze sleepily at the unexpected, impatient visitor resting against my doorway, all sexy, floppy hair drifting over the right of his brow.

“What took you so long?” he scowls and I answer him with a very unladylike yawn. “Did I wake you?” his features soften with my responding nod.

Stepping aside, I wave him in. He bends to retrieve his briefcase that rests at his feet then follows me into the apartment. “How are you feeling, beautiful?” he kicks the door closed behind him.

I frown. “Tired and disorientated. I thought you were coming by
after
work. It’s only five o’clock.”

“You’re not feeling nauseous?” he arches his brow, gauging me. He looks mouth-wateringly delicious with his black pants and black and maroon, vertical strip shirt. His sleeves rolled up to just below his elbow, showcasing his light-golden forearms and arm hair. The shadowing of his stubble around his mouth and jaw, and that quirk of his lips as he grins down at me.

My God, it’s like looking at him for the first time all over again.

I take a moment to assess how I’m feeling. Tired? Yes. Mentally exhausted? Yes. Sexually frustrated? Now I fucking am. Nauseous? Surprisingly, no, and it is a revelation. I shake my head and pose a relieved smile.

“Good. I brought you something to cheer you up. And no questions, you’re my fiancée…I am allowed to,” he says cheerfully with conceit. A shrewd glint in his chocolate eyes…hmm, to lick melted chocolate of his body…I lick my lips at the mere thought which invades my rationality.

His excitement is infectious. I giggle at his buoyancy, and cannot supress the face-splitting grin that claims me. I’m relieved that I am not the only one grinning like an idiot, as Hayden soon mirrors my expression. His tongue brushes against his lower lip before he showcases his all-American, dazzling smile. Oh, that tongue and those lips. My God, what is wrong with me? I’m hyper alert to even the minuscule of his movements, affecting me deeply, causing my wantonness to augment and rise to the surface, pleading to be ravaged, devoured and sated.